Paths that lead home
by CurtisMcQueen8
Summary: When Tauriel points an arrow at his father on the battleground of Dale, Legolas' loyalty toward both of them is put to the test. What will he do? Who will he keep faith with and what impact will his decision have? ... This is basically me playing around with the events that occurred in the final Hobbit movie and how it could have been a little different.
1. Part I

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. All names and places belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and/or New Line Cinema and MGM._

**Part 1**

The air was full of menacing sounds, the rattling of swords, the battle cries of men and orcs, heavy boots crunching on gravel and stone. And still, Legolas felt an eerie silence creeping over him as he and Tauriel rode toward the ruin Dale. The bridge leading over a trench into the former city of men was littered with the cadavers of orc and men, a few leaf-shaped Elf helmets here and there peeking out of the dark pile of bodies. The smell of freshly dried blood hung in the air. Legolas' heart stopped for a beat when he spotted his father's giant elk lying dead to his feet. His eyes scurried over the battleground but there was no trace of the king. Was he injured or, even worse, _dead_? A wave of fear washed over him, leaving him paralyzed for a moment. No, that could not be. Legolas tried to reason with himself. He had no reason to doubt the fighting skills of his father. Thranduil was a lethal weapon, swift and merciless, moving with the grace and the stealth of a feline predator on the hunt. He was most definitely fine. Legolas knew he should be more worried about the reason his father was fighting in this war.

"Legolas," he heard a familiar voice amidst the muffled background noise. "Legolas Greenleaf."

Mithrandir was coming toward their horse and he had a halfling with dark blonde curly hair in tow. Legolas gave a nod and dismounted from his horse. Tauriel slid down after him.

"There is another army coming from the north," Legolas hurried to inform the wizard, swallowing the concerns about his father's whereabouts. "Bolg is leading an army out of Gundabad."

"North?" the hobbit exclaimed. "Where exactly is north?"

Mithrandir's head shot up in the direction of Ravenhill, the defensive outpost of the dwarven kingdom of Erebor that was overlooking the valley of Dale.

"Thorin's up there," the hobbit gasped, his voice shaking with fear. "Fili and Kili, they're all up there."

"Kili," Legolas heard Tauriel whisper behind him. She stirred uneasily.

"Follow me," Mithrandir commanded but Legolas found himself unable to move. His feet seemed all of a sudden frozen to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw the wizard stride away. Tauriel went after him. The halfling's eyes met those of the Elf prince, a curious mixture of doubt, fear, anger and anticipation flickering in them. Legolas held his gaze until the halfling turned away. As small as he was, he seemed utterly out of place in the grotesque scenery and still, somehow, he looked as someone who had a purpose. Truth be told, he seemed very conscious as to why he was there.

Legolas forced himself to follow the wizard. They had come to warn the others that the offspring of Azog the Defiler would soon be here with a second destructive force of evil. Fighting that army was the next logical step. They would have to reorganize their own forces in order to be able to fight on two fronts, since Azog himself had his orcs assailing the gates of Erebor. When the prince caught up with the wizard, he found him arguing with Thranduil. When he saw his father clad in his silvery armor, carefully stepping through the bodies of his fallen soldiers, Legolas heart beat faster with nameless relief. The relief soon gave way to several different thoughts that kept pouring into his mind from out of nowhere. Legolas did not know how Thranduil thought about this war, could not guess his father's motives. After interrogating one of the orcs that had assailed the gates of the Woodland Realm in an attempt to head off the fleeing company of dwarves, Thranduil was well aware that the _flames of war were upon them_ although he had kept his thoughts as to what these flames would mean for their kingdom to himself. Legolas could not tell if his father had brought his army here in order to face this threat or if he was pursuing other objectives. Legolas knew he could blame nobody but himself for this lack of knowledge. He had left the Woodland Realm with the clear order to bring Tauriel back within two days after she had made such a hasty departure upon the discovery that a poisoned orc arrow had injured the young black-haired dwarf. Legolas had found her by the stony riverbed near Esgaroth, where she had managed to convince him that Thranduil's isolationistic way of ruling did not only violate morality but also placed their lives, the lives of the Elven race, above that of all the other races. She had questioned his sense of duty by indirectly asking him if he shared his father's opinion that other lands were _not their concern_.

"This is not our fight," Legolas had told her, anxious to not stab his father—who had, after all, done his very best to protect Tauriel all those years—in the back.

"It is our fight," she had replied firmly. "Are we not part of this world?"

And so he had given in, defying his father's orders when he should have been standing by his side, aiding him in the preparation for battle. After he had learned that Thranduil had banished Tauriel from his kingdom but commanded him to return as soon as possible, he had done the very same again, blindly holding on to the belief that … He did not know what belief he had been holding on to. He knew that Tauriel had her doubts about Thranduil's motives. She was sworn to protect him but Legolas had sensed how she had begun to put this position in question lately. Not only this position, he had to admit, but his father's ability as king. Legolas had not dared to voice these thoughts before, not even silently in his head, but he could no longer deny them now. Tauriel thought that his father's mind was corrupted; that he did not care about the other races facing the dark power seeping out of Dol Goldur into Middle Earth; that he was a poor leader, a poor politician, a poor king, maybe even a poor father.

"My lord, the orcs have come to Ravenhill," Mithrandir was saying. "The dwarves are about to be overrun. Thorin _must_ be warned!"

Legolas tried to force his thoughts back into the present, tried to shake off the crushing feeling of guilt. He suddenly saw clear as day just how much he had wronged his father when he had let himself get carried away by Tauriel's rebellious mind. Her motives had seemed pure and honorable to him at the time but it dawned on him then that they were not. She was in love with that dwarf, or at least she thought she was in love with him, which was what had brought them both to this very place at this very time; the wrong place for Legolas.

"By all means, warn him," Thranduil told Mithrandir, the tone of his voice matching the icy stare of his grey-blue eyes. "I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land. No more!" He turned away, striding purposefully toward the gate.

"Thranduil!" Mithrandir shouted after him, his voice vibrating with despair. When Thranduil did not turn back, the wizard hurried away.

Just as Legolas wondered if Tauriel had set out to Ravenhill all by herself, she appeared in front of his father, blocking his way. To Legolas' bewilderment, she commanded, "You will not turn away. Not this time!"

"Get out of my way," Thranduil hissed, his voice colder than the winter air.

"I will not," Tauriel said firmly. "The dwarves will die."

Legolas shook his head, trying to bring her back to reason. But she did not see him. Her gaze was fixed on the king. Oh, how much she despised him.

"Yes, they will die," the Elvenking replied icily. "Today, tomorrow, ten years from now or a hundred years from now. What does it matter? They are mortal."

In one swift movement, Tauriel grabbed her bow and pointed an arrow directly at the king's face. "You think your life is worth more than theirs," she scoffed. Legolas wondered if ever before someone had squeezed so much contempt, so much hostility into so short a sentence. "But there is no love in it," Tauriel went on. "There is no love in _you_!"

Thranduil lunged out towards her. "Tauriel!" Legolas heard himself shout. "It's enough!"

Thranduil stopped midway and turned around to him in wonder, his eyes shimmering with astonishment and, along with that, anger. Tauriel stood frozen, still pointing her arrow at the king, her eyes glistering with tears. Legolas stepped between them, shielding his father from the arrow that would pierce his chest if Tauriel chose to fire it, which was exactly the place where he was supposed to be. "It is enough," he repeated.

Her features lined with disappointment, Tauriel lowered her bow. Her lips twitched but she remained silent. Legolas expected her to say something, anything, but she would not deign an answer. Disappointment gave way to anger and so she just turned on her heel and left.

Thranduil's eye bore into his as soon as Tauriel was out of sight. Legolas bowed his head, his head spinning as he frantically searched for the right words to say. "Forgive me, Ada," would probably not be enough but he said the words anyway. "I didn't—"

"Save your apology for later," Thranduil interrupted him. "We have more important things to discuss."

_Notes:_

_-It's basically from this point onwards when Legolas and Tauriel arrive in Dale that I would have liked to see the story develop differently, at least with regard to the Mirkwood Elves and their involvement in the story, their motives, their actions and so forth. So this is basically what I'm doing here, playing with how 'The Battle of the Five Armies' could have ended if things had been a little different. (And I do not mean the battle, I mean the movie.)  
>-It's been three weeks since I last saw the movie, so forgive me if I didn't get all of the dialogue right. There are a lot of other things on my mind these days.<br>-I took the "bring her back in two days" bit from a deleted scene that didn't make it into the theatrical version (or the Extended Edition) of 'The Desolation of Smaug'. You can watch it here: watch?v=qln92dJKwDo  
><em>


	2. Part II

**Part 2**

Thranduil motioned toward Galion, who had apparently been watching the incident with Tauriel from where he stood, with a bow of his head. The Elf walked over to them in two giant yet graceful steps. "What are your orders, my lord?" he queried, apparently confused.

Thranduil seemed to be considering the question for a moment, for he did not gave an immediate reply. Several seconds passed in corrosive silence, before he announced in a low voice, "_The Enemy_ has returned."

It was not until then that the full and ominous meaning of the words "the flames of war are upon you" began to register with the elf prince. He had been aware of the growing presence of evil at their borders, had begun to feel the shadowy evil strengthen with every day that passed, yet he had not dared to think about what might happen if it ever reached its full strength and destructive potential. Nor, for that matter, had he considered who or what that evil was and whence it had come from. Until now. _The Enemy_. His thoughts darted back to the interrogation of the filthy orc once more. "My master serves _The One_," the foul creature had said, placing the same emphasis on the two words as his father had just done.

"My lord," Galion stammered, his brow crinkling with confusion. "I am not sure I understand—"

"Sauron," Legolas whispered, aghast. He had grown up with the glorious yet, at least for his own people, painful stories about the war of the last alliance, in which Sauron, former servant of Morgoth, was overthrown by the military alliance of all the forces in Middle Earth. The war had cost his grandfather Oropher's and many other lives of the Greenwood forces. They had paid with an unimaginable amount of blood for this victory. A victory that apparently had been none.

"Sauron has returned to Middle Earth," Thranduil confirmed. "If we are to believe Mithrandir, his spirit survived all those years. He is trying to seize the mountain, for it provides a strategic advantage for him. It is the gateway to the kingdom of Angmar in the North and if he succeeds … We shall rather not contemplate on what would happen if he succeeded."

Galion looked as though he was trying to translate the king's speech into a command. His gaze hurried back and forth between Thranduil and Legolas, awaiting orders. Thranduil remained silent, still brooding over his next move. Legolas realized that his father must have already been in possession of all the information he had just disclosed to them when he gave the order to withdraw the Mirkwood forces. Why would he turn his back on the people of Esgaroth and the Dwarfs, however much he might scorn them, if he knew that Sauron was the one commanding the troops of Bolg and Azog? For if that was indeed the case, and Legolas still tried to convince himself that it was not so, the fight over the riches in the Lonely Mountain seemed utterly ludicrous in the grand scheme of things.

"My lord," Galion said in an attempt to break the silence. "What are your orders?"

Thranduil drew in a deep breath before he began, "These lands are doomed."

"Hîr vuin," Legolas pleaded.

Thranduil's gaze bore into his son's once more, his eyes flickering almost belligerently. The king did not like to be called into question, much less to be interrupted, especially not now; not after his own son had wronged him so. However, he would not discuss these matters in front of Galion. He narrowed his eyes, unequivocally displaying his disapproval, before he went on with, "Nevertheless, we shall unite against our common enemy, as hopeless and desperate an endeavor as it might be. Position our forces. I shall have a word with the lord of Dale."

"My lord." Galion gave a courteous nod and hurried away.

"Will you pay your father the compliment of fighting by his side henceforth?" Thranduil inquired sourly. His eyes were narrowed to slits. He would rather form a friendship with Thorin Oakenshield than admit as much but Legolas felt that he was deeply hurt.

He bowed his head in shame, murmuring another apology. "Goheno nin, Ada. I will stand by you from now on."

Thranduil acknowledged his son's words with a stiff nod and motioned him to follow.

* * *

><p>Thorin's stomach dropped when the full meaning of Bilbo's words began to dawn on him. A second army attacking from the North. An army approaching with the single purpose of taking the kingdom of Erebor, the homeland of his forefathers, away from yet again and erase the line of Durin once and for all. He had dedicated his entire existence to win back his lost kingdom, haunted in waking and in sleeping by the crushing images of the dragon's wrath; the destructive power of its parching fire; the panic in the once so proud eyes of the dwarfs; the brave yet doomed attempt to fight the dragon and rescue what was left to be rescued; the hundreds and thousands of his kinsmen being massacred in the valley of Dale; the flight into the wilderness; the endless wastelands; the endless desperation; the homelessness; the shame; the loss of his father and grandfather and everything else that had been near and dear to him. He realized how close he was to losing it all over again. Never would they be able to fight a second army.<p>

Not with so many of their kin having already been slaughtered in the fight over the Lonely Mountain. Not with only the four of them and Bilbo, whom he could not bring himself to regard as a warrior in this war, confronting their enemy at Ravenhill.

The four of them. His best warriors.

"Fili. Kili." It was nothing more than a whisper that escaped from the mountain king's lips. He had sent his sister's sons off to explore the hidden passageways of the ancient watchtower, spying out the enemy. What if the enemy found them first? They had undoubtedly walked right into a trap, a trap that was closing ever tightly around them. The very air seemed to be filled with the threat of death. Thorin's mind raced with possible next moves but he found himself unable to think, unable to move, unable to breathe. Something vicious and powerful seemed to be sucking the oxygen out of the air, leaving none for him to force into his lungs. The life of him and his nephews hung by a mere thread and he knew it. His mind went black. Dwalin stirred next to him, drawing deep breaths, his eyes scurrying over the rough terrain.

"We need to," Thorin began, forcing himself to action, but he was interrupted by the sight of Azog, who appeared on a rock formation above them. He had Fili grabbed by the throat and lifted him up with his giant, pale hand, a vicious laugh hissing from his mouth. His cold blue eyes were full of malice and morbid excitement, his bloodlust almost palpable.

"No," Thorin heard himself cry out in despair, his voice merely a miserable screech.

Azog locked eyes with him, forcing him to stare into this seemingly endless abyss of hatred, evilness and revengefulness, and began a monologue in black speech, the words spilling out of his mouth like a roaring wave.

Before he was finished with his speech, Thorin saw the metal of his blade flashing as the defiler raised his sword. Fili struggled in the grip of the monster, desperately trying to wriggle himself free. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a fierce battle cry rang out behind Azog and the orcs by his side. They turned around in astonishment, off-guard for the fraction of a second, which Kili seemed to be using to duck under their swords in order to reach Azog. The pale orc grunted with disgust. Kili took advantage of the defiler's bewilderment and, with all the strength he could muster, rammed his body into the monster's scarred stomach.

Thorin felt how Bilbo was holding his breath next to him. Dwalin cried out when, suddenly, the second army the hobbit had warned them about began to attack, orc soldier by orc soldier appearing out of nowhere, jumping down the walls like predators.

Azog tumbled, if only slightly. The other orcs on the rock formation launched toward Kili, who ducked once more, astonishingly agile in his movements for a dwarf. He rolled onto the ground, jabbing his sword into the defiler's calf. Azog cried out with pain. Fili struggled once more, finally wriggling himself out of the monster's claws. He landed on his feet with a thud, dangerously close to the edge of the rock formation, tumbled backwards and lost balance.

"Fili!" Thorin shouted, storming forward with giant steps. Bilbo gasped behind him as the orc soldiers closed in on them and Dwalin took to arms. A piercing outcry escaped the dwarf's mouth as his axe crashed into the skull of an orc with a horrible, crunching sound.

Fili fell over the rocky edge, arms thrown into the air, his fingers desperately reaching out for something to hold on to. He found a small ledge in the rock and clutched at it with the greatest of efforts, panting like a wild animal. Azog was shouting orders at his servants, the black speech rolling off his tongue on a wave of venom. In his rage, he lifted Kili up by the throat and hurled him across the rocky surface with such a force that the dwarf's body slid over the edge. His hands, too, reached out and found nothing but his brother's boots to grab. His arms giving way under the additional weight, Fili's fingers slipped off the rock and both came falling down, their bodies crashing into their uncle, who had positioned himself below the edge.

Thorin felt the impact of their weight crushing him down, hundreds of pounds of flesh and armor forcing him to his knees. His body relented and hit the ground, his head hitting the cold, hard stone beneath him. A nebulous darkness ascended in front of his eyes and the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was Azog's furious roar mingled with Bilbo's desperate yelp and the rattling of swords.

* * *

><p><em>Notes:<em>

_Hîr vuin = My lord_

_Goheno nin = Forgive me_


	3. Part III

**Part 3**

When Tauriel had reached the top of Ravenhill, she needed a moment to catch her breath as her brain tried to adjust to the sight before her eyes. One dwarf stood surrounded by a ring of orc soldiers, roaring and panting like a wild animal. The halfing had drawn his sword as well, although he did not seem to know what exactly to do with it as the dwarf's axe flew through the air, fighting off the blades of the orc swords. One of the foul creatures suddenly jumped forward and jabbed its weapon into the dwarf's shoulder, who cried out in pain and horror. The halfling ducked down, a purely intuitive action it seemed, trying to escape the bustle of battle. Tauriel snatched her bow, whipped an arrow out of her quiver and shot the orc with one precise shot. The dwarf gazed up in surprise for a second but quickly concentrated his attention back on the soldiers in front of him.

Acting on pure instinct, Tauriel continued to fire arrow after arrow from her strategic position offside the main battleground until the first ring of orc soldiers, which had encircled the dwarf and the halfling, were incapacitated. The dwarf grunted with what seemed to Tauriel like disapproval when she headed toward them.

But she did not pay attention to either the dwarf or the halfling. She hurried past them, her eyes scurrying back and forth until, finally, she spotted Kili, who stood bent over his uncle alongside his brother, both trying to wake him up by desperately shaking his shoulders.

"Thorin!" Fili was shouting. "Thorin, please!"

And then, suddenly, out of one of the watchtower's passageways, Azog the Defiler came running with his two weapons, the lethal blade replacing his missing arm and a giant sword, pointed into the direction of Thorin and his nephews, ready to slaughter all three of them. The expression on his scarred, pale face articulated nothing but pure spite, his features distorted with rage and the unquenchable thirst for revenge.

Tauriel pulled out her pair of filigreed daggers with one swift movement and lunged forward to block the way for the defiler but he approached her without slowing his pace, unperturbed. She sprang towards the creature, ready to deliver a lethal blow, but the monster saw it coming. He turned halfway, lifted his prosthetic weapon arm, aimed at her and lunged out, knocking her off her feet. Tauriel gasped for breath as she slumped to the ground, tears of pain blurring her vision for a moment.

Tauriel rolled over, watching from the corner of her eye how the pale orc reared up in front the Durins, hissing in black speech. Kili and Fili turned around, drawing their swords with a roar. They took a step forward, pointing their blades at the defiler. The orc attacked furiously and almost uncoordinated, blinded by his rage. Fili opposed him and the rattling of metal against metal clattered through the air. While he used his prosthetic weapon for the fight with Fili, Azog brandished his sword into Kili's direction, who fended off the blow with his sword and turned around swiftly, positioning himself beside the orc. Fili took two steps to the side and positioned himself on the other side. Azog's icy eyes danced back and forth between the brothers, mirroring confusion and disorientation.

As Tauriel watched them defend their uncle with all the power they could force into their blows, she felt a sharp pain piercing her heart. She did not know where it was coming from. There was a fire burning in Kili's and Fili's eyes, a fire kindled by love and passion, a fire so fierce that Tauriel could almost feel its heat on her skin. She could not begin to fathom why it hurt her so deeply to see them fight for someone they loved but she did not have the time to dwell upon her peculiar feelings. More orc soldiers were coming forth behind her, announcing their presence with heavy footsteps and even heavier breathing. Tauriel jumped to her feet, snatched up her daggers from the ground, turned around and began to fight, executing her moves with speed, agility and rigorous precision, taking on the bunch that was storming toward her all by herself. Behind her, she heard Azog bristle with rage as Kili and Fili tackled him from both sides. Judging by the filth's furious cries, he was, however, far from surrender.

The halfling was nowhere to be seen but the other dwarf was encircled by orc soldiers once more, who drew him ever closer toward Tauriel. They fought relentlessly against their enemies until they suddenly found themselves standing side by side, their weapons pointed toward the orcs.

"Now that's precious, is it not?" the dwarf grunted. He seemed almost amused.

"I am not sure I understand," Tauriel replied as she rammed one of her daggers into the chest of an orc approaching from the side.

"Your sort actually really trying to help us. That's a thing unheard of." That said, he let out a short, deep-throated laugh before his axe crashed into the stomach of another orc. "But then again," more words came spurting out of his mouth as he took on the next soldier, "I suppose, you'll want your share of the treasure when this is over."

"I am not interested in gold or gems," Tauriel spat as she sliced the throat of the next filthy creature. "I am here because you are outnumbered."

"Forgive me," the dwarf hissed, ducking away from a deadly blow, "if I don't take your words on trust, She-Elf." He sent the next orc to the ground, panting. "You didn't exactly give us any reason to trust you or your dishonorable, treacherous king."

"And by whose side am I fighting at this very moment?" Tauriel asked back, her dagger jabbing into more and more orc flesh. "Yours or his?"

The dwarf burst out into hysterical laughter. "Don't pride yourself on this, lady. I know of the guile of your kin, especially that of the accursed woodland fairies!" He was negligent for the fraction of a moment, caught unawares by the sword one of the orc soldiers was hurtling toward his stomach. Tauriel took a leap, kicked the creature in the leg while simultaneously jabbing the blade of her knife into its chest. It slumped to the ground, squealing.

"Do not forget that we are also warriors, _dwarf_!" Tauriel hissed as the dwarf let out the breath he had been holding. "And as such, we are quite useful in war."

* * *

><p>Thorin's head was still swimming when he prevailed over the darkness in his mind at last and forced his eyelids open, his vision blurry at the edges, little stars dancing in front of his eyes. Or were the stars snowflakes? He did not know. He attempted to lift his head, which sent a sharp pain through his body, launching inside his forehead and crashing down into his stomach, where it exploded, stabbing his insides like a thousand needles. The pungent smell of half-dried blood hung in his nose, the taste of it lingered on his lips, nauseating him so to such an extent that he heaved his weakened body up with all the force left in him and bent over.<p>

There was nothing. He had hardly eaten in days. He remembered the dark days spent wandering through the halls of Erebor, his footsteps echoing off the giant stone walls. He remembered the pain in his heart, the burning desire in his soul. He had not eaten, had not slept. The treasure, this unimaginable hoard his grandfather had assembled during his reign, had been the only thing on his mind.

How wrong he had been.

He squinted and looked up. It took a few seconds for the image of Fili and Kili battling with Azog the Defiler to finally swim into focus. Yes, he had been utterly wrong. Everything that truly mattered stood right beside him, the most valuable of treasures in the form of flesh and blood, his nephews willing to give their lives for his own. Thorin scrambled to his knees, pushed himself off the ground and drew his sword, his movements still agitated by the dizziness swamping his brain.

Azog grunted when Thorin locked eyes with the creature. The deep, burning hatred the orc felt for the mountain king apparently gave him new strength, for he suddenly smashed Kili to the ground as if the young dwarf was as light as a feather. Fili sprang forward and tried to tackle Azog but the monster raised his prosthetic arm and jabbed the blade into the dwarf's side. Fili cried out in pain and sank to his knees. Kili crawled over to him, murmuring his brother's name in a hushed voice that was shaking with fear.

As Azog took a step toward Thorin his lips parted into a spiteful smile. Thorin narrowed his eyes in response, ready to take him on, when he heard a heavy breathing behind him. He gulped, closing his eyes for a second, feeling the claws of hopelessness gripping his heart. He did not want to turn around, did not want to see who stood there, although he knew he had to. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze met the cold, remorseless eyes of Bolg.


	4. Part IV

**Part 4**

Legolas listened silently as his father consulted with the man he had referred to the as the lord of Dale about the war, a strong yet intangible sensation pulsing beneath his chest. The man's appearance was not lordly at all but the way he spoke did more than redeem his tatty clothing. He nodded respectfully as Thranduil told him how one part of the Elven force would drive the orcs out of Dale, whereupon the force of men were to hold the gates. Legolas wondered how the _force_, which consisted mostly of fishermen and craftsmen, some of whom were very old, desperate and terrified, was to hold any gate. They did not use weapons to fight but carried whatever substitute they had picked up on the way. They were not even fighting in the true sense of the word but rather bustling about, trying to avoid the orcish blades. To coordinate them would take an amount of time they could not afford to invest.

"Yes, my lord," the man agreed with a forceful nod.

It was the first time that Legolas saw the bearing his father truly had on these people. Not that he had ever seriously doubted Thranduil's abilities either as a king or as a commander of armed forces, but he had never actually watched him as a political agent in a war that had broken out beyond their borders. He had seen him fight and kill innumerable spiders and other foul creatures throughout the long years since Greenwood the Great had become infested with evil, yes, but these creatures had never attacked in an organized manner. They had charged at random, their motivation unclear except for their intent to kill, infect and destroy. The hosts of Azog and Bolg, however, belonged to an effective military force that was commanded by Sauron, the enemy of the free peoples of Middle Earth, himself. It was a force to which the people of Esgaroth could not stand up without support. Thranduil had chosen to provide his support after all and the leader of men seemed grateful beyond measure that he had done so.

Legolas felt his lips part into a smile as he got hold of the powerful and pleasant feeling in his chest: It was pride. He was proud of his father, proud of his achievements in the battle of Dagorlad, proud of his long reign, his wisdom and his power. For the first time in centuries, Legolas also truly realized that, should his father ever fall, he would have to take his place and assume his responsibilities. And however much it pained him to even consider the possibility that Thranduil might perish one day, the thought of men seeking his aid and turning to him for support filled his heart with pride, joy and happiness. How could he even think for a minute that he had the right to simply run off, ignoring all the duties that might be conferred upon him one day?

"Legolas!"

The prince's head shot up as he snapped out of his thoughts. There was a challenging flicker in Thranduil's eyes but the rest of his face remained expressionless when he commanded, "Tolo ar nin. Gwaem." He nodded into the man's direction one last time, sealing their agreements, before he turned around and drew both of his swords as he purposefully strode into the direction from which the orcs and trolls could be heard loudest. He shouted orders in Sindarin, whereupon the Mirkwood soldiers came forth, lining up left and right beside their prince and their king. When Galion stepped forward, Thranduil held up his hand, lowered his head and whispered something into his ear. A wave of astonishment washed over the elf's features but Thranduil only nodded in response, whereupon Galion marched into the opposite direction with approximately fifty soldiers following him in a neat line.

When the first cluster of orcs spotted them, they turned away from the bunch of men they had been fighting with and spurted towards them, bellowing out their pugnaciousness.

"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!" Thranduil shouted and lunged forward.

"Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir!" Legolas repeated and hurled his body toward the enemy, the Elves alongside him following their leaders' paragon. The rattling of swords clattered through the air, accompanied by the crunching of heavy boots on stone littered with debris and the thuds of bodies slumping to the ground.

Foe after foe they slew with their Elvish blades, their fight a lethally precise, choreographed dance through the lines of their enemies, until at last, they had slain all the foul creatures inside and driven the rest out of the city and onto the bridge that connected Dale with the mountain valley. Dain Ironfoot's army, Legolas saw, had been cornered by the host of Azog the Defiler. Soon, the enemy would seize Erebor.

Next to him, Thranduil suddenly uttered a muffled cry.

Legolas' head whipped around in awe. Two of the orcs behind them had regained their filthy feet and tackled his father from behind, dragging him to the ground. Thranduil's sword shot up, slicing through nothing but air. One orc brought its blade dangerously close to his father's throat, growling in black speech. The other kicked the sword out of his hand. Legolas sprang forward without pausing to think, whirling around to dazzle the creature, and jabbed his dagger into its eye. As the orc stumbled backwards, Legolas snatched up his bow, whipped out an arrow and shot the other assailant, which went to the ground squealing with pain and horror.

Legolas panted with fear. Thranduil let out a breath. The orc blade had grazed the skin on his throat in the jumble and a tiny stream of blood was trickling down his neck. He looked bewildered as Legolas held out his hand to help him up. As Thranduil clasped it, Legolas cursed himself for having summoned thoughts of his father falling. "Thank you," his father whispered as he stood up. "Thank you, ionneg." He placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and, to Legolas' genuine astonishment, a gentle smile spread across his face. "I should not have doubted you."

"Save that for later," Legolas heard himself say. "The fight is not over yet."

Thranduil gave a nod, the smile still twitching at his lips.

* * *

><p>"We can't keep this up for very much longer, aye," the dwarf said. His movements had already become more strained and slow, his axe visibly heavier.<p>

Tauriel had to admit to herself that he was right. More and more orc soldiers seemed to come forth, pouring onto the scene of battle with an energy she could no longer muster. Yet, she would not admit as much to his face. "You might not be able to, dwarf," she countered. "Elves can maintain their performance well-nigh indefinitely."

The dwarf grunted in response, probably seeing right through the façade, but before he could reply, Galion appeared at the top of stairs on the opposite of the battlefield, storming toward the orcs with an estimated fifty Elvish soldiers behind him. Before the enemy could adjust to the new situation, a rain of arrows poured down on them.

The dwarf's mouth gaped open in surprise. Tauriel could not begin to understand why Thranduil's army might be there after all but it was not important to her. She killed two more orcs hurtling toward her and turned around to see how Kili was holding up. From the corner of her eye, Tauriel had watched him scramble to his feet after the defiler's attack, assailing him from behind as Bolg had lunged toward Thorin. Meanwhile, Fili had braced up for battle one last time as well, fighting relentlessly despite the pain he must be in.

Tauriel felt a powerful sensation of disappointment tugging at her heartstrings as she realized that she had no right to step between Kili and his people. His love for and loyalty toward his brother and uncle was palpable in the air as he tirelessly dealt blow after blow in the attempt to save his loved ones' lives. And suddenly she recognized what is was that had mesmerized her: It was not love. She had not fallen in love with him but with everything he was fighting for at this very moment. He had shaken her up, breaking through the cage of iron in which she had locked up her heart the minute she had sworn revenge for her parents' death.

Her vision blinded by tears, Tauriel watched thunderstruck as Bolg's blade pierced Fili's heart when the dwarf threw himself between Thorin and the orc with every ounce of strength left in him. Kili screamed out in horror. Propelled by grief and anger, he sprang toward the creature and jabbed his blade into its stomach. The orc sank to his knees, growling with pain. Kili lunged out once more and rammed his sword into the orc's neck with such a force that a fountain of blood spurted out.

"Kili!" Thorin yelled. "Watch out!"

Azog, whom Fili had managed to knock off his feet when he had hurled himself toward Thorin, jumped to his feet behind Kili, panting. Kili swung around just as Tauriel took a flying leap toward him but it was too late. The pale orc jabbed his prosthetic arm right into Kili's chest and pulled him closer, hissing in black speech.

"Nooooooooooo!" Thorin yelled, his voice cracking. He darted at Azog, wielding his sword. "Let him go, you miserable piece of filth." Azog snorted with laughter as he used his blade to rip open Kili's chest. It was not until Thorin pounced on him that he let go of the young dwarf, his eyes flickering with self-satisfaction.

Tauriel averted her gaze in horror as the feeling of nausea pressed upward from her stomach. She felt as though she had to watch her parents perish all over again. Only this time, she did not feel the need for revenge. To her own genuine surprise, she realized that revenge would never bring them back. She had devoted her entire existence in the royal guard to slaying orcs because she had hoped that one day, when she had killed enough of the filthy creatures, she would eventually be at peace. She had let the hunger for revenge poison her mind and distort her good judgment. She sank onto her knees, collapsing under the weight of her wrong decisions and the injustice she had done her people. A few steps away from her, Thorin and Azog slumped to the ground, each with the other's blade in their stomach, gasping heavily.

No, revenge led nowhere. Revenge only claimed innocent lives.

As though from another universe, Tauriel suddenly heard eagles cry out in the sky.

* * *

><p><em>Notes:<em>

_-Tolor ar nin – Come with me  
>-Gwaem – Let's go (Literally: We go)<br>__-Gurth gothrim Tel'Quessir – Death to the foes of the Elves  
>-ionneg – my son<br>-I really don't know what people discuss in battle and how they plan their moves strategically, which is why I basically let Legolas' mind wander off when Thranduil and Bard were discussing what to do. I thought it would be logical to drive the orcs out of Dale in order to get the city back though, if only for the women and children to be safe, and move the battle to the valley again. Of course, I could be wrong. I am not a soldier. I also tried to find out how many entrances Dale actually has but I could not find a reliable source. In case of a siege, I guess it would be wise to have only one, especially one from where you can overlook the whole valley, so I decided to leave it at that.  
>-As painful a subject as this is to me, I really enjoyed writing Tauriel and Dwalin (in this part and the previous one). I think it would have been very amusing to have them fight side by side, as proud and determined as they both are.<br>-In case you were wondering, yes, whenever I used the phrase 'one last time' I did it on purpose._


	5. Part V

**Part 5**

Legolas marveled at how heavy his arms were beginning to feel. With every time he wielded his daggers and thrust them into an orc's body, they felt a little bit heavier until his blood seemed to have turned to lead in his veins. As his movements slowed down ever more, a hitherto unknown feeling of self-directed anger and disappointment crept into his mind, very much alike to the feeling that had ambushed him when Bolg had given him a bloody nose in Esgaroth. His arms and legs began to throb, first lightly and then ever more adamantly, almost as though they were going to refuse to carry on.

Legolas panted as he tried and failed to remember when his weapons had ever felt so heavy in his hands. A few steps to his right, his father did not show the slightest sign of fatigue. He tirelessly wielded his sword, dealing blow after blow, swirling across the plain with a kind of ethereal ruthlessness that was both beautiful and frightening.

"Legolas! Hîr vuin, no dirweg!" one of the Mirkwood soldiers cried out behind him just as he saw an orc blade hurtling toward him from the corner of his eye. He ducked down rather clumsily, his usually inherent agility seemingly swept away, turned around and stabbed the filthy creature with every ounce of strength he could muster.

At this very moment, on the battlefield at the Lonely Mountain's feet, Legolas became painfully aware of the difference between him and his father. He had no idea what war was truly like. He had fought evil creatures within their own borders but they had been ludicrous opponents compared to the orc host that was standing before them then. Thranduil had fought Sauron's armies before. He had even fought dragons before. He could draw on more than 6,000 years of experience. For more than half of this time, Middle Earth had been afflicted with the dark forces of the enemy. Although Legolas knew that he himself was a very good fighter, swift, graceful and lethal, he realized that the best training practice in the world could not have prepared him for the brutal reality of war because he had grown up in a time of peace. And however watchful it might have been, it was still peace.

Legolas tried to clear his head, to cast off the fatigue as well as the unwelcome thoughts and self-doubts. He urged himself to focus on the moment, on one opponent at a time, on the precise motion sequence of every blow. As he glanced into Thranduil's direction once more and saw how the king's lips moved soundlessly, Legolas suddenly remembered how his father had taught him to keep count of how many enemies he had already defeated. "Keeping in mind what you have already accomplished will help you to stay focused," Thranduil had advised him when he was little more than an Elfling receiving his weapons training. "Always remember that every enemy _you_ bring down brings you one step closer to victory. Take it one step at a time."

It was exactly what Thranduil was doing. He was counting the orcs he was slaying. _Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one_. Legolas took a deep breath, swung round and started his own count. _One, two, three. _When he had reached thirteen, he suddenly heard an eagle cry out. When he looked up toward the sky, he saw how Gwaihir the Windlord and his great eagles were majestically flying into the lines of orc soldiers, grabbing two or three at a time with their claws and hurling them away, scattering the rest of the pack like scared up beasts.

Legolas let out a sigh of relief. Next to him, his father did the same.

* * *

><p>Thorin coughed, feeling the blood trickling onto his tongue, slowly filling up his mouth. He tried to swallow, tried to seize control of his breathing but it came in short, erratic intervals. He coughed again, hearing his lungs rattle as the blood seeped into them. His chest crunched as his frantic breaths rose and fell. He moved his head a little to the side, his vision blurry at the edges. He squeezed his eyes shut, then squinted, until Fili and Kili swam into focus. They lay on the ground to his side, a heap of dwarven armor in a pool of blood that was slowly painting the snowy surface ruby-red.<p>

Thorin struggled to sit up but his body was too heavy. He frantically searched for any sign that his nephews were still alive. He watched for a blink of their eyes, a jerk of their hands or a crystalline explosion of breath on their lips, all the while listening for a sound, a muffled sigh, a wheeze or a gasp. There was nothing. Their cold eyes stared skywards, their bodies lay motionless. The sons of his beloved sister, the sons he had sworn to protect and guide safely into their new home, were dead.

It pierced Thorin's heart to think about how young they had still been, young in dwarven terms, and how full of life, energy, bravery and virtue. He thought about what they would miss in life and just how wrongful it was that they would never see Erebor, their home, thrive, that they would never fall in love, marry and have children. Thorin felt an enormous wave of guilt washing over him, crushing his already crushed body, paining him more than cold metal and hot dragon wrath. He had let them down. When he should have acted like their uncle, their king, their leader, he had buried himself deep in the halls of Erebor, surrounding himself with the cursed gold of his ancestors. He had said that a treasure such as the one his grandfather had assembled was worth more than all the lives they had been sacrificing for it. How wrong he had been.

The most valuable treasure he had ever possessed in his life lay next to him in the form of two slumped bodies. Kili and Fili had given their lives for him. How could he believe, even for one minute, that the arkenstone would bring him peace? It was merely a stone, nothing more than that. The true treasures of the world could not be turned into material objects, however much one was tempted to believe otherwise. The true treasures of the world were warmth, family, love, respect, loyalty, solidarity and …

"Thorin!"

And friendship. Yes, friendship. Thorin felt his torn lips break into a smile as he heard Bilbo's voice.

"Thorin, no," the hobbit gasped, his voice shaking with fear. "Thorin!"

"Bilbo," Thorin squeezed out, the words stumbling off his tongue on a flush of blood. "I am glad you are here. I want to part in friendship." He had wronged the halfling as much as he had wronged his own kin. He had called him a shire rat, he had even ordered Fili to throw him off the wall.

"No, no," Bilbo was saying. "We do not need to part. You are not going anywhere. Thorin, please."

The words pried out, brokenly. "Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books, your fireplace. Go home, plant your trees. Watch them grow." Bilbo touched his arm, shaking his head in terror. Thorin longed for comfort, stretching out his hand, his fingers clutching at the hobbit's sleeve. "If more of us valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place. I am sorry that I made you a part of my perils."

"No! I am glad to have shared in your perils," Bilbo said, his voice thick with tears. "That is more than any Baggins deserves."

Thorin felt his eyes closing and life itself vanishing, escaping his body like air streaming out of a balloon.

"No," Bilbo kept saying. "Thorin, no. Look, the eagles are coming. Everything is going to be fine. _You_ are going to be fine."

The cries of the eagles, the very birds who had brought their company to the carrock after Bilbo had given proof of his unconditional loyalty toward him a felt lifetime ago, reached his ears as though through wafts of mist. "Thorin, no." Bilbo's voice sounded more and more muffled, coming from a very far away land. Suddenly, it was growing louder one last time. "Dwalin! Help!"

_Dwalin_.

Thorin felt life stir in him once more. He had threatened his most loyal fighter, his life-long friend and consultant, who had spoken nothing but the truth. _You sit here, in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been. _He had told him to go away before he would kill him.

Thorin forces his eyelids open. The other dwarf's face was merely a blur but Thorin could sense Dwalin's presence. "Forgive me," he breathed out. "Forgive me, _my brother_."

When he saw Dwalin smile through his tears, he closed his eyes, finally at peace. Thorin heard the hobbit's desperate cry and felt him tugging at his sleeve before everything went dark in front of his eyes at last.

* * *

><p>Legolas walked back toward the ruins of Dale alongside his father after the eagles had turned the tide of the battle in their favor. Thranduil's face remained expressionless but his movements were less graceful, his posture displaying the same weariness that caused Legolas' legs to tremble with every step he took. The sight of the countless bodies of Elves and men littering the bridge and the streets of the once so prosperous city filled the prince's heart with grief and a certain kind of hopelessness that seemed utterly uncalled-for now that the host of Sauron was, at least for the present, defeated.<p>

"Ada?" Legolas asked in a whisper, finally voicing the question that had preyed on is mind ever since they had confronted the enemy's army. "Where did you send Galion?"

"Where do you think I sent him?" Thranduil replied in a low voice, his eyes darting in the direction of Ravenhill.

Legolas felt how his heart warmed up again after the cold reality of battle had seized it. "Le fael, Ada." His father knew that, despite everything that had happened between the three of them, Legolas would not want to see Tauriel harmed. As if by command, the prince spotted her red hair amidst the crowd of cheering soldiers. Her eyes, Legolas noted, were glistering with tears and her pale cheeks had assumed a reddish tone. When she beheld them, she walked toward them with purposeful strides, placing one hand on her chest and lowering her head when she had reached them.

"Tauriel," Legolas whispered, his heart still torn between anger, disappointment and compassion. Since the young elf looked devastated beyond measure, the anger quickly vanished.

"Forgive me," Tauriel said, her head still lowered. "I want to express my regrets for my behavior although I am aware that what I did is unforgivable. My lord, I have come to understand just how much I did wrong by you." She looked up, the clear grey of her eyes veiled by her tears. "I have gone astray, yet, I still beg for your forgiveness."

"And my forgiveness you shall receive," Thranduil replied and, to Legolas' genuine surprise, he added without being prompted to do so, "I hereby lift the ban."

"Thank you, my lord, but I cannot go back. I need to find peace elsewhere," Tauriel replied, bowing her head once more. Without saying another word, she turned and began to walk away.

Legolas took a step toward her, reaching for her arm. "You do not have to leave," he whispered, unsure as to why he was holding on to the moment so desperately. "I am certain there is a way for you to …" He fell silent because, in truth, he was not certain. Truth be told, he had never felt more uncertain in his entire life.

Tauriel sent him a tiny smile, two teardrops dripping onto her lips. "Thank you, mellon-nin," she whispered. "Thank you for all you have done for me but I feel a strong desire to go. There is no other path for me. I bid you farewell."

"Farewell, mellon-nin," Legolas murmured. He found himself unable to take hold of what he felt. He thought about how he had trained her, how she had confided in him, how they had ridden out on their horses through starlit nights and how close he had always felt to her. Into this, thoughts of other, much less pleasant nature began to mingle. He saw her changing again, her spirit growing darker and more hostile in his mind's eye, her once fiery glowing eyes burning with the desire to kill orcs. He saw her actions coming to be more and more ruthless until she had—first silently and then openly—rebelled against her own king, persuading him, the prince, of the justness of her revolt.

As Legolas pondered over how he could have changed the course of events at any given moment since he had sensed that Tauriel had gone astray, Thranduil placed a hand on his shoulder, swiftly unfastening the knot his heart threatened to get entangled in.

"Are we returning home?" Legolas asked. It was not until the prince had uttered the words that he felt the longing for the woodland realm pulsating violently beneath his chest.

"Not yet," Thranduil replied to his disappointment. "We still have a token in our possession that rightfully belongs to the king under the mountain."

* * *

><p><em>Notes:<em>

_Hîr vuin – My lord  
>N<em>_o dirweg – Watch out  
><em>_Le fael – Thank you (Literal: You are generous)  
>Mellon-nin – My friend<em>_  
>-The plot bunnies suddenly whispered into my ear that it might've been a fun thing to discover that Legolas' habit of counting down the orcs he kills in 'The Lord of the Rings' is actually a strategy his father taught him to stay focused. I think it would've been pretty amazing if we'd seen them both do it during the battle of the five armies, a much more subtle way of tying it to the other movies. But maybe that is just me.<br>-Just so you all know, it was really really really hard for me __**not**__ to write any Bagginshield into this. I pulled myself together though and I'm very proud that I did. Drinks are on me, yay!  
>-It was very important for me to have one last Dwalin and Thorin moment though, so here it is, recorded without heroics, dwarvish style.<br>-As for Tauriel, um, I don't know where to start. I neither liked nor disliked her particularly, she was just there and that was okay. At least, it was okay until the battle of the five armies. Now, I really don't like her anymore, which is sad because she could have been a great character. The way she has been presented in the third movie, however, the big ethical hero as opposed to Thranduil as the bad guy, is __**not right**__ and I will probably never get over it. It is also not right to give a character who wasn't even in the book (and I do not dislike her because she wasn't in the book, that's not the point) more screen-time than any of the eru-damn dwarves. The love triangle is also not right, for so many reasons. On top of all that, I would think that the way the movie ended is not really satisfying for Tauriel fans. "And even if she lived all by herself in the forest," my cousin said, "I'd like to know." Another friend of mine, who is not all too much into LOTR, at least not anymore, asked me why Tauriel wasn't in the LOTR movies: "I mean, it's obvious, because they've been shot earlier, but plot-wise. Why isn't she in the movies?" Okay, Thranduil isn't in the movies either and Legolas probably does not need a whole cavalry to accompany him to Rivendell prior to Elrond's council but all in all I thought that a bit more closure as to what actually happened wouldn't have hurt (Maybe in the Extended Edition?). To cut a long story short, I tried to make her departure as decent as possible because, despite everything, I still respect the character created by PJ & Co.  
>-That said, stay tuned! There is more to come, even if it is just an after-thought!<em>

_-PS: Are there balloons in Middle Earth? Probably not but I Chose to use the metaphor anyway. _


End file.
